


Try, Try Again

by addict_with_a_pen



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, Comedy, Fluff, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Secret Santa, gomens, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addict_with_a_pen/pseuds/addict_with_a_pen
Summary: for @prince-of-heaven-and-hell on Tumblr for Good Omens Secret Santa!!!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Newt/Anathema (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Try, Try Again

**Author's Note:**

> gdasgjgka; i am so sorry that this is getting posted so late, thank you for letting me gift this to you after the deadline!!

“Look at it!”

“I see it.”

“Isn’t it lovely?”

“It’s… small. And rather flaccid.”

“Flaccid!” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a slightly hurt expression. “That’s harsh, don’t you think?”

The demon wrinkled his nose. “Whatever you say, angel. We can get it if you really want it, I just think that a tree should be a bit more... proud than that.” 

The tree in question was about three feet tall, tucked away in a far corner of the Christmas tree farm. Overshadowed by its fellow conifers, it was rather runtish in comparison to the full, towering pines surrounding it. 

“Well that’s your thing, isn’t it?” Aziraphale took a scrawny branch into a mittened hand, admiring the color of the needles. “You’re always dithering over those houseplants of yours, perhaps you could... talk some pep into this little fellow!” He flashed his characteristic beaming grin at Crowley, the same smile from the Globe Theater in the seventeenth century. 

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets, making a face. “I dunno, angel…”

Aziraphale huffed. “Oh, come on, you silly old thing. It has _character!”_

The demon snorted skeptically. “So does a stuffed aardvark, but I don’t see any of those floating about your shop.”

“Hmph.”

Crowley bent over to take a closer look at the tree and its spindly little limbs that drooped from the weight of the snow laying on them. He peered at its trunk through the scraggly needles, inspecting it for blemishes. He leaned closer to get a whiff of its scent. Then he snapped up and smirked lightly, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, alright. I can work with this. Let’s go, angel.”

Aziraphale blinked, surprised that Crowley had agreed so readily after only a little bit of coaxing. “Oh! Right then,” he said, grinning even more broadly. 

Crowley snapped his fingers and a sled appeared, along with a short saw to cut the trunk. He grabbed the saw and began to work at the base of the tree. 

Aziraphale glanced up at the grey twilight sky. A gentle but persistent down of snowflakes filled the air, swirling in intricate patterns around them. “It’s going to be insufferable by the time we get back to the shop,” he predicted of the weather.

Crowley, his face blocked by the branches of the tree, blushed crimson. “You really have that much confidence in my abilities?”

“What?”

“The tree.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley an odd look. “I was talking about the snow.”

“...Oh.”

The demon worked on in embarrassed silence.

* * *

Meanwhile, in another part of the farm, another ethereal pair was searching for the perfect tree.

“No, that one’s too zzmall.”

“It’s the biggest one in the lot!”

“Then they’re _all_ too small!” Beelzebub folded their arms. “Miracle it bigger, can’t you?”

Gabriel threw his arms up in exasperation. “I’m the archangel fucking Gabriel, I’m not supposed to use miracles for petty reasons! Do it yourself, you lazy bastard.”

The Lord of Hell stared daggers at their counterpart. Gabriel returned it, utterly unintimidated. 

“I don’t even know why we’re doing this,” said the archangel, pulling at the lapels of his suit jacket. “Neither of us even _celebrate_ Christmas.”

“It wazzz _your_ bloody idea!”

Gabriel opened his mouth to respond, then paused and held up a hand. “Shut up.”

“ _What?”_

“Shut it!” Gabriel snapped, listening intently. “I hear something.”

Bee shot a fiery glance at the angel, but strained their ears as well. “I don’t--”

“Help me with this, would you angel?” It was faint, but the voice was instantly recognizable.

Bee and Gabriel looked at each other. 

“Isn’t that…?” said the archangel.

“Crowley,” confirmed Bee. 

They kept listening. 

“Careful, don’t break the branches,” advised a second voice, equally recognizable. 

“That’s one of ours,” whispered Gabriel. “A traitor angel, Aziraphale.”

“What’re they doing together?”

“Fraternizing?”

Beelzebub’s face suddenly lit up. “Come on,” they said, grabbing Gabriel by the collar and pulling him along. “I have an idea.”

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley walked through the rows of trees together, with Crowley dragging the tree on the sleigh behind them. 

“I do, you know,” said Aziraphale, breaking the silence.

“Mmwhat?” asked Crowley, carefully punting a pinecone down the aisle in a spray of white powder. 

“Have confidence in you.” Aziraphale said it almost sheepishly, focusing on the ground.

“Ngk.” said Crowley.

“You are a strange demon, but a nice one.”

Crowley sighed, secretly flustered. “Y-you know how I feel about that word…”

Instead of responding, Aziraphale shifted closer to Crowley and reached out to take his free hand, wondering if the demon could hear his heart pounding. 

Before he could, there was a sharp _THWAP!_ against Crowley’s back. 

“Aaagh!” He jerked forward, got his foot stuck in a divot in the ground, and pitched face-first into the snow.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Aziraphale whirled around to see where the evident snowball had come from. There was no one in sight.

Crowley spat out a mouthful of snow. “Bastard hit me right on the spine. That bloody _hurt.”_ He accepted Aziraphale’s proffered hand and pulled himself to his feet. “Shut up, you,” he snapped at the tree on the sled.

“Who’s there?” shouted Aziraphale. 

Crowley removed his sunglasses, which had cracked, and peered through the trees. “Hold on,” he said, beginning to grin. “I can play this game, too. Idiots don’t know who they’re messing with.”

Then another snowball came barreling out of the darkness and struck him square in the face.

The demon erupted in a froth of swearing. “That’s it,” he spat. “This means war.”

* * *

Gabriel was laughing to the point of hysteria, while Beelzebub shushed him. “They’ll hear, you imbezzile.” They were smiling too, though.

Gabriel scooped together another snowball and packed it together. “I’m gonna... go for... Aziraphale,” he wheezed, winding up. 

The snowball went whizzing through the air, heading directly for the back of Aziraphale’s knee. 

A thud and a loud exclamation signified that it had met its target. 

“I’m not supposed to endorse violence,” muttered the mild-mannered angel, an edge in his voice, “but I think I can make an exception.” 

Beelzebub snickered, then motioned Gabriel to move. The pair crept around the trees under the cover of darkness, skirting just out of view of their targets.

“This is _so_ much more fun than picking out trees,” whispered Gabriel, beaming genuinely at Beelzebub, his violet eyes gleaming. Bee looked up at him, expressionless except for a slightly tetched smirk. 

Without saying anything, they reached up, seized the lapels of the archangel’s jacket, and yanked him downwards for a kiss.

_“AHA!”_

A massive snowball exploded against Gabriel’s cheek, covering both of them in cold slush. 

Beelzebub hastily let go.

Crowley had a manic look in his golden eyes, and he hissed excitedly as Aziraphale approached behind him. “ _How’s it fucking feel??”_ he shouted gleefully.

Aziraphale was the first to recognize their assailants. The color drained from his face and he grabbed at Crowley’s arm. “ _Crowley!”_ he hissed.

“What?”

Gabriel wiped the snow off his brow and stared in awe at the Lord of Hell, ignoring the others. 

Beelzebub, on the other hand, fumed at the inferior demon.

“Oh, _shit…”_ Crowley edged behind Aziraphale. “We… weeee’re just gonna go, then….” Without another word he noped off into the trees, the sleigh with the tree trailing behind him.

“Crowley--” Aziraphale took a step back, not knowing what to do. “Er…”

“Shoo,” said Beelzebub, coldly. 

“Right, then, erm… bye, then.” Aziraphale scuttled after Crowley, not waiting for Beelzebub to change their mind and hoping Gabriel didn’t argue.

“Did you just--” Gabriel only then seemed to snap to, watching Aziraphale’s retreating back.

“It’s Christmas,” said Beelzebub simply. 

Gabriel blinked, deciding not to pursue it. He rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. “So, uh, you wanna… pick up where we left off, orrr…”

“Shut up, idiot.” Bee did anyway, though.

* * *

“Crowley, you miserable serpent, you could have _waited_ for me,” admonished Aziraphale after returning to the Bentley. 

“Sorry,” mumbled Crowley. There was still a good amount of snow in his ginger hair. 

The angel sighed. “What are the odds?” he asked rhetorically. “I never would have expected to see _those_ two here, let alone _together.”_

“Best not to question it,” said Crowley, getting in. “They just let you go?”

“Beelzebub just said ‘Shoo,’ and that was it,” answered Aziraphale, slipping into the shiny black car’s passenger side. “I didn’t stay long enough to deal with Gabriel.”

“Odd. I think maybe we interrupted something,” speculated the demon as the car’s engine turned over.

“So did they.”

They watched the road for a while. 

When they got to the bookshop, Crowley removed the tree from the Bentley’s roof rack with the tartan straps with a look, then carried it by hand into the shop.

“See?” said Aziraphale, admiring it. “It looks wonderful.”

“Yeah, alright, you were right,” said Crowley. “As usual,” he added under his breath.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Merry Christmas, angel.”

Aziraphale took a breath, and tried what he’d attempted at the farm a second time. “Mer--”

Just as his hand brushed Crowley’s, the shop’s bell rang. 

“GO AWAY!!” shouted Aziraphale angrily, startling Crowley.

“It’s Anathema and Newt! We brought you guys cookies!” replied Anathema’s voice, sounding muffled through the door and slightly frightened.

“For _somebody’s_ sake…” Fed up with the interruptions, Aziraphale roughly took Crowley by the hand, yanked him forward, and kissed him. “Merry Christmas, my dear,” he said softly, then promptly made his way to the door and left the demon to process it.

“Yes, hello! Always a pleasure to see you two,” he greeted warmly, giving each of them a hug and inviting them into the shop.

Newt noticed Crowley as he set a tin of biscuits down on a table. “I-is he alright?” he asked, gesturing to the demon, who was still frozen in place and blushing quite impressively. 

“Yes, he’s fine, don’t worry about him. Can I offer anyone tea?” The angel bustled past into the kitchenette to set a kettle boiling, as Anathema admired the tree.

“This is a lovely little thing,” she said to Crowley. 

“Uh-huh…” he said absently, still in the process of rebooting. 

“Right, that’ll be done in a few minutes,” said Aziraphale, returning. “Crowley, dear, won’t you dry off your jacket? You’re getting snow on the carpet.” 

The demon finally recovered himself and obeyed. “Yeah, sorry angel. Thanks for that,” he said to Newt and Anathema, nodding at the tin. He shed his jacket, gave it a reproachful look, and slipped it back on. Newt noticed it seemed to be steaming faintly, or perhaps it was his imagination.

“No problem,” he said automatically. 

They stayed at the bookshop for an hour or so, then departed with a expensive-looking, probably priceless bottle of wine that Aziraphale had insisted they accept.

When the shop door had swung closed with a final chorus of Merry Christmases and Happy New Years, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves finally alone. 

“Peace and quiet at last,” said Aziraphale, more than a little relieved.

“Mm,” agreed Crowley, tugging at his jacket sleeves. “I’ll be off, then, I suppose.” He started for the door, but Aziraphale cut him off.

“Just where do you think you’re going? It’s Christmas, I’m not letting you sleep in that gloomy den you call a flat, moping about all by yourself,” he said.

“What, you want me to stay?” Crowley’s eyes widened a little. 

“If you like.” Aziraphale wondered if he’d come off a little aggressively.

“I… you’re sure?”

“ _Yes._ Now come, it’s late.” Aziraphale flicked out the shop’s lights, took the demon’s hand once more, and headed towards the stairs that led to his flat above the shop.

Needless to say, the angel only had one bed.


End file.
